


Prison Soulmates

by midnightpansy



Category: DC - Fandom, DC Comics, DCU, Gotham - Fandom, Gotham City Sirens (Comics), Suicide Squad - Fandom
Genre: Arkham Asylum, Baby BatCat, BatCat, F/F, F/M, Murder, Prison AU, Soulmate AU, Violence, prison break - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 22:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16334402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightpansy/pseuds/midnightpansy
Summary: I know these characters would never be in the same media but. I don’t care.The soulmate tattoos are lyrics from the Joan Jett cover of "Crimson and Clover". I do not own the son or the lyrics.





	Prison Soulmates

**Author's Note:**

> I know these characters would never be in the same media but. I don’t care.   
> The soulmate tattoos are lyrics from the Joan Jett cover of "Crimson and Clover". I do not own the son or the lyrics.

She knew how the soulmate system worked, of course. She wasn't stupid. She’d just kidded herself into thinking that their marks could match, that the placement was simply a mistake, some blip in the workings of the universe. And now she was being paraded down a grimy corridor in her former workplace by seven guards, wearing a starched orange jumpsuit, handcuffs and a gag.   
It was embarrassing, and honestly a bit disappointing. She'd expected Batman catching her to be spectacular, impressive, and highly deadly. But all she had were some shallow scratches and bruises, and a large cut on her forehead.   
One of the guards unlocked the door to a brightly lit cell with fluorescent lights, linoleum floors and a small bed in one corner. The walls were tarnished white bars, already damaged in a relatively new section of the asylum. Thankfully, the cells on either side were empty, and the back walls was against exposed brick.   
One of the guards shoved her into the cell, throwing her to the floor. The door was slammed and she heard bolts sliding and locks clicking on the other side. They hadn't bothered to take off her handcuffs.   
"Have fun, princess," one of the guards laughed, staring down at her through the bars. She glared up at him, waiting for the guards to leave before she crawled to the back of the cell, her back pressed against the cold metal of the bed.   
There, Harley Quinn hugged her knees to her chest and cried, low aching sobs because she knew she'd been abandoned. 

At exactly nine o'clock the next morning, a metal baton clanged against the bars, shaking the whole cell. Harley's head snapped up, her eyes snapping open despite the red puffiness. There was a guard standing outside her cell.   
"C'mon, princess," he called. "Get up and get out."  
Harley stood, her muscles aching from being hunched over the whole night. She was still wearing the red and black mismatched sneakers she'd been caught in, and for the first time she was thankful she wasn't in heels. She stumbled over to the door and out of it, the ground changing from linoleum to concrete. The guard grabbed her arm roughly, yanking her towards the wall. Harley crashed into it, staggering back to regain her balance. Locks of her white-blonde hair, died pink and blue at the ends, fell into her face.   
She shook her head, took a deep breath and faced the guard.   
He laughed. "Okay, princess. This way."  
He led her down the hallways to the canteen. The layout was exactly the same as it had been when she was a therapist there, meaning her plans to change the layout every six months and maximise security had been ignored. Typical.   
The canteen was just as she'd remembered it - scuffed plastic floors, gritty concrete walls and aged, cracking and rickety metal tables and chairs.   
The guard removed her gag roughly, red lipstick staining the discoloured cotton. She held up her wrists to be unlocked and he laughed, slapping her hands down.   
"Enjoy, princess," he mocked, strolling to stand by one of the walls.   
Harley walked slowly across the canteen, standing to join the queue of inmates waiting for breakfast. A red plastic tray was shoved into her hands, with a reusable cup of water and already mushy muesli. Harley watched the spoon sink slowly into the milk as she shuffled away, awkwardly balancing the tray on her hands.   
She scanned the canteen but didn't see a single familiar face. She knew people who'd been in here before, but no one who was imprisoned currently. The canteen was a sea of uncaring strangers, deep in conversations she wasn't invited to.   
"Hey, Blondie!" A voice called. Harley looked up to see a woman with luscious red curls and light green skin beckoning her. Harley walked over to her table, which was empty except for her. Her feet were propped up on the table, dark green heels glinting in the canteen strip lights. She was leaning back in her seat, arms resting on the back of her chair. Her jumpsuit was tighter than regulation, and there was something dangerous glinting in her emerald eyes.   
"Take a seat," she said, gesturing to the chair opposite her. Harley sat down, carefully sliding her tray onto the table. The woman looked her up and down, nodded, and swept Harley's tray onto the floor.   
"Hey!" Harley snapped, on her feet before she knew what she was doing. "That was mine!"  
The woman shrugged. "What are going to do about it?"  
Harley scanned the tables around her. One of the prisoners had a plastic fork lying next to his plate. Harley snatched it up and lunged across the table, knocking the woman to the ground. Harley was on top, holding the woman's throat down with her left hand and pressing the fork against her windpipe with her right.   
The woman smiled. "Excellent. There's the fire I wanted." She pushed Harley's hands away, sitting up. "Remember. You're no one's princes. You rock and rolled with the Joker and came away stronger. We can run this joint."  
"We?"  
The woman held out her hand. "Poison Ivy, pleasure to meet you."  
Harley shook her hand mutely, still a little stunned. She stood, helped Ivy to her feet and sat back down at their table.   
Ivy sat down opposite her, smooth her hair and wiping dust off her jumpsuit.   
Even the uniforms were the same, Harley thought, scanning the canteen again. The overly starched cotton, the bright garish cotton, the tiny useless breast pocket with A. A. stamped on it, the way PROPERTY OF ARKHAM ASYLUM was still printed on the back. Not a single thing had changed, least of all the guards' attitudes towards girl-on-girl violence.   
Ivy reached under the table and, after a second of fumbling, produced half of a tuna and sweetcorn baguette. There was masking tape attached to it and a thin layer of dust, but it was still a hundred times better than the crime scene of a tray on the floor.   
Ivy held up the baguette. "We'll split this, and then discuss our escape."  
"No," Harley said, plucking the baguette out of Ivy's slender green hand. "I'm going to eat this, and then tell you everything wrong with your plan."  
Ivy laughed. "I like you." Her eyes flicked over the guards standing against each wall, her gaze making each guard turn away. "But not here."  
Ivy stood, looking down at the half-eaten baguette in Harley's hands. "I'll come to your cell at midnight. We can plot there."  
Harley nodded, swinging her feet onto the table. "I'll wait up."

An hour later, a security guard peeled himself off of the wall and strolled over to where Harley was sitting. He stood opposite her, holding her gag in his hand.   
"Come on, princess," he said. "Time to go to your basket case session."  
"I don't think so…" Harley leaned forward to read his name tag. "Ryan."  
"It's Bryan," the guard said instinctively, before sighing. "On your feet."  
"Or what?" Harley asked, sinking lower into her seat.   
The guard looked from side to side, shifting awkwardly under her bubblegum ice cream eyes. "Or I'll have to… uh…"  
"That's what I thought," Harley said, swinging her feet off the table and standing up. She plucked the gag out of his hand, deliberately dropping it on the floor. Harley led the way out of the canteen, the guard feebly following her. 

Ten minutes later, Harley was sitting in a plastic chair behind a rickety wooden table. Her handcuffs were clipped to the table, and there was a one-way mirror on the wall opposite her. The chair seated across from her - this one wooden and cushioned with velvet - was empty, but Harley could hear the hurried whispers from behind the door.   
The door swung open as the lightbulb above Harley's head brightened. A girl stepped into the room, wearing the standard white lab coat over a black leather jacket. Her dark boots clicked on the tiled floor and the silver necklaces around her neck glistened in the light. She sat down opposite Harley, her deep blue eyes closely studying her.   
"Good morning, Miss Quinzel," she said. Her curly brown hair was cut to her chin, exactly the same way Harley had done it.   
"Not my name, cutie," Harley smiled. She raised her hands, her wrists cuffed to the table. "Now, why don't you get me out of these and we can raise a little hell?"  
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, but her head nodded fractionally. Harley's heart leapt and she leaned back in her seat, smiling.   
The girl pulled open a draw and rifled through a stack of paper. She spread a brown folder face-down on the table, clicking the draw shut and tucking a pen behind her ear. She flicked open the folder, holding the folder so Harley couldn't see its contents as she leafed through the pages.   
"It says her you were a psychiatrist here. Is that true?" She asked.   
"No, you've got the wrong girl," Harley drawled, rolling her eyes.   
The girl nodded. "I see. Guards, please escort Miss Quinn back to her cell. Our session will continue tomorrow."  
She stood as a guard entered the room, watching him detach Harley's handcuffs from the table. She moved to hold the door open for them, slipping a folded piece of paper into Harley's breast pocket.   
Alone in the room, Selina Kyle tucked the rest of Harley's file into her jacket pocket. She smiled for a moment, before leaving for an uncharacteristically early lunch break - early for the psychiatrist tied up in her apartment, at least. 

"How was your appointment, princess?" the guard asked as he led Harley back to her cell.   
She ground her teeth, glaring at the wall. If she killed him now, they'd never escape. A few more minutes and she'd be fine, she'd get a chance to think.   
"C'mon, princess. Talk to me," the guard whined. His grip on her arm tightened and Harley took a slow, measured breath. She knew her way around Arkham - in less than four metres they'd turn a corner, and then it was just a straight passage to her cell. She could make that.   
"You better start loving these walls. It's all you'll see for years, prin-"  
Harley yanked her arm out of his grip, spun and hit him on the side of his head. She kneed him in the stomach, before driving her elbows into his shoulder. He stumbled into the wall, crashing into it and crumpling to the floor.   
Harley reached down into the red sneaker on her right foot. She pulled out a small flat blade and stepped foreword to crouch in front of the guard.   
His eyes opened as she leaned closer, his pupils clouded and disorientated. There was blood staining the side of his head and his teeth. His pupils snapped into focus as the blade pricked his throat.   
"I'm not your princess." Harley said slowly, dragging the knife across his throat. Scarlet blood leaked out of the slit and spilled down onto his uniform, dripping onto the floor around him. He struggled weakly for air, his fingers twitching before stilling.   
Harley straightened up and laughed. She wiped the blade on the top of that stupid cap every guard insisted on wearing, before tucking it into her pocket. She strutted down the hallway, rounding the corner and pushing open the door to her cell. The door clanged shut, locking automatically. At least one of her suggestions had been followed up on. 

Hours later, Harley was lying on the narrow bed, staring up at the ceiling. She hadn't moved in ages.   
"If I stay here any longer, I really will go crazy," Harley mumbled. She sat up and stretched her arms above her head. The orange sleeve over her right wrist slipped down, showing the tattoo she was trying so hard to forget. There, written in looping black script on the inside of her wrist, were the words I'm not such a sweet thing.   
Harley sighed, staring down at it. The tattoo should have been reason enough to leave him, but some mental glitch and whatever was in those chemicals had kept her by his side, not matter how much crap came her way. Harley wiped her eyes, shaking her head angrily.   
"Are you thinking about him?"  
Harley's head snapped up. Ivy was standing outside her cell, resting her elbows on the bars. The lights were dimmed at night, but her eyes still shon.   
"No," Harley said roughly. She stood up and crossed the cell to where Ivy was standing.   
Ivy lifted a small silver key out of her pocket, unlocking the door and letting Harley step out. The two of them sat by Harley's cell, their backs pressed against the bars.   
"My plan is a quiet escape. Charm or bribe a few guards, slip out through a side door, get as far away as possible."  
Harley was shaking her head before Ivy finished. "No. This is going to be big. There's going to be flair, style, explosions… I should still have some TNT in a supply closet somewhere."  
"Look, I really don't think that's necessary," Ivy sighed. Her shoulders brushed Harley's. "We can just escape quietly, with no hassle."  
"I know," Harley said, staring at the scuffed floor. "But I want this place to burn."  
Ivy grabbed her hand, twining their fingers together. "Oh, it will."

The next morning, Harley sat opposite Ivy and slid the piece of paper Selina had snuck her. The Asylum was filled with rumours of a missing guard and a corridor that smelled of bleach, but Harley didn't let that distract her.   
Harley's handcuffs were resting on the table between them, having been removed earlier with Ivy's lock pick. Harley was tying her hair up into two ponytails, leaving strands free to frame her face.   
Ivy was reading Selina's notes on camera angles, guard patrols and easy ways to get into the building, as well as the location of the car she would meet them in. Harley glanced over at the clock set outside the canteen, the numbers visible through crisscrossing wire.   
"We have two hours to plan and execute this. Read faster," Harley rushed in a whispered tone.   
"Wha- Two hours?!" Ivy's gaze snapped up in disbelief. "This Selina is impatient."  
"Don't call her that," Harley chided, trying not to yell. "She's the smartest fifteen year old I know."  
Ivy dropped the note on the table, throwing her hands up. "A child. We're basing our escape on a child."  
"Selina's the best. She's been in and out of Arkham more times than I've had pink cocktails - if she has a plan, it'll work."  
Ivy shook her head, turning back to the paper filled with squashed, looped handwriting. "Whatever you say."  
Harley smiled, before nudging Ivy's foot with her own. "If we can get out of this canteen, we can get out of here faster."  
Ivy smirked, folded and tucked the paper onto her pocket and stood up. "I can do that."  
Harley stood up, laced her fingers with Ivy's and made her way to the door of the canteen. A heavily armoured guard stepped in front of them, holding a metal baton.   
Harley and Ivy shared a look. Ivy flipped her hair out of her face and beamed.   
"Hey beautiful. Mind letting us past?"  
The guard shifted uneasily under Ivy's emerald gaze. "N-No, I can't-"  
Ivy pressed two fingers to her scarlet lips before reaching up to the guard's face. The second her fingertips brushed his mouth a green glaze misted over his eyes. He stepped stiffly to the side, staring ahead.   
Harley laughed, sauntering out of the canteen with Ivy at her side. She led her down the corridor and to a cramped closet with an "OUT OF USE" sign taped to it. Harley pushed open the door to reveal several large wooden crates, each stamped with a red diamond. They smiled at each other before prying open a crate. 

Twenty minutes later, Harley was half way through strapping a dozen sticks of dynamite to a wall when a guard stumbled onto the scene.   
"Hey! What are y-"   
Harley rolled her eyes, seized up the wooden bat by her feet and spun. The bat hit the side of the guard's head, knocking him to the ground. Harley dropped the bat, picked up the rope tied around the bat and looped it around his neck.   
"When will people learn to leave a girl alone," Harley sighed, resting her bat on her shoulders with one hand on either end. She walked down the corridor, trailing rope and gunpowder behind her. 

At the same time, Ivy was at the other end of Arkham, her fingers hovering over the buttons of a control panel. Four guards lay slumped on the floor of the security room, green tendrils of smoke wisping up from their eyes.   
Ivy was watching Harley on the collection of security cameras shown on the tv monitors. Harley was walking around the Asylum like she owned it - and she practically did. Ivy smiled down at her fondly, before movement on one of the other cameras caught her eye.   
"Crap."  
A squadron of ten guards, each holding bulky rifles, where creeping along the corridor, following the rope and sprinkling of gunpowder. They were roughly ten metres from Harley and closing the distance fast.   
Ivy checked the clock in the security room, before punching the lockdown button prematurely. 

Harley reached into her pocket for another pinch of gunpowder when the lights in the corridor turned bright red and a klaxon sounded throughout the hallways. She shot a questioning glance at the security camera on the hallway before sprinting in the direction of the security room. She trailed rope behind her as she ran, before dumping it on the floor outside the room. She shouldered open the door, kicking it shut before turning to Ivy.   
"What happened? I still have three corridors to-"  
"No time." Ivy beckoned her over, pointing to the groups of guards patrolling the corridors. "We have to act now."  
Harley nodded, setting down her bat and rolling up her sleeves. Ivy froze, staring down at Harley's wrist.   
"What?" Harley asked, glancing down at her soulmate tattoo.   
"Your tattoo." Ivy said softly. She reached down to twitch up the sleeve on her left arm. There, in the same dark looping script as Harley's mark, were the words won't do everything. Ivy's left hand curled around Harley's right - their tattoos aligned perfectly.   
Harley looked up at Ivy, her eyes shining with hope. Ivy leaned closer, curling her hand around the side of Harley's face. Their lips were millimetres away, and Harley felt the klaxons and the flashing lights and the computer monitors fade out, and it was just Ivy as she pressed their lips together.   
A crash echoed from the door as they broke away. Harley turned to see a guard smash the butt of his rifle against the thin frosted window of the door.   
"Work your magic," Ivy said, grabbing a fire extinguisher from a small alcove. She strode up to the door, punched the extinguisher through cheap wood and into the guard's face. He fell to the ground, the rifle slipping from his fingers.   
Harley twirled her wrists as she turned to the control panel. She heard gunfire echo behind her as she punched in an annoyingly long and specific combination of different coloured buttons. A small silver rectangle turned over at the top of the control panel, showing a green square. Harley pressed the fingertip of her right index finger to it, watching it glow in conformation. The last thing she'd done as a psychiatrist there had been making sure no changes could be made to her DNA records and the doors they opened. 

Throughout Arkham Asylum, prisoners raised their heads as the doors to their cells swung open. Tentatively at first, they crept into the red-lit corridors, the sound of klaxons echoing in their ears. A tannoy crackled overhead and a female voice cut through the klaxons:  
"The Sirens are back, baby!"

Harley and Ivy made their way out of the control room, trailing rope behind them. The rope ended before the corridor did, probably because Harley had insisted on tying it around the computer wires.   
Ivy pulled a small green lighter out of her pocket and struck a match, lighting the end of the rope. They watched the tiny flame race down the rope, before making their way down the corridor.   
Harley grabbed Ivy's hand as the two of them ran through the corridors, feeling explosions shake the ground under their feet. Ivy sent a hail of bullets through two guards that tried to block their path, throwing the now bulletless rifle into a third guard's face. Harley pulled Ivy into a supply closet, kicking a vent out of the wall and onto the ground outside. Harley crawled through it and stood in the courtyard outside Arkham, smelling the smoke on the cold winter air. It was already dark and frosty, just the way Gotham should be.   
Ivy stood by her side, their hands laced. Police sirens cut through the stillness of the night air, flashing blue lights illuminating the throng of inmates and guards by the Arkham gates.   
Harley led Ivy to the back of the Arkham parking lot, where a row of dumpsters stood. Harley jumped onto one, swinging over the spiked metal fence and onto the asphalt outside. Ivy landed neatly beside her, turning to the only car parked opposite the Asylum.   
"Hey there," Selina called. She was crouched on top of an impressive matte black car, the keys dangling from her fingers. She'd changed back into her signature leather jacket, the hood pulled up over her curly brown hair, her goggles on her head. Her dark boots came up to the knees of her jeans, and her fingerless leather gloves helped her hands blend into the shadows.   
She hopped off the car roof, walking over to hug Harley. Harley hugged her back, feeling the fire behind her growing.   
"Does your boyfriend know you've stolen his car?" Harley asked, pulling away.   
"Nah." Selina grinned, pulling open the driver's seat and sliding in. "His security is lame."  
Harley laughed, getting in the backseat with Ivy. Selina sped off into the night, leaving the Asylum behind them in a blaze of flame and smoke. The riot in front of the building was going strong, as the GCPD failed to bring order to the prisoners. Someone had gotten their hands on a can of scarlet spray paint and defaced the road in front of Arkham with the words LONG LIVE THE SIRENS.   
Harley wound down the car windows, kissing Ivy as the night air whistles through the car. She'd found her soulmate, finally.


End file.
